In mulling over a good place for some public snoo snoo in my current WIP, I find myself at a PDA crossroads. So, to clarify a bit in my own mind and to help others (curious bystanders or writers, virgins or sluts) I endeavor to create a list of the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.
1. I’ll start off with the ugly. I’m embarrassed to say that I considered this (not doing it, but writing it). My locale doesn’t leave me too many options, but despite the lack of available space, I stand firm on my decision not to make my guys have sex in a porta-potty. Not even a fancy version with antiseptic gel. Not gonna do it.
Well, maybe I’ll write it just for fun, but no way is it getting into my manuscript. Maybe a freebie to be posted here at a later date…? I know, I’m such a porta-potty cock tease.
And I had no idea that Gerard Butler had a recent porta-potty screw until it popped up in my related links. Freakin’ weird. Butler, you idea-stealing bastard! Way to one-up me.
2. Bad. Bad, bad, bad. I give you the swimming pool. I’m sure a large percentage of teenage whores fell for the allure of the deep blue community pool in the dark of night. Probably intoxicated, but you never know. Maybe even completely sober, because from the outside looking in, the pool sings a siren’s song. Slippery when wet, right? Afraid not, Bon Jovi. Water is not lube, my friends. If it were, why would people even buy lube? In fact, it is the anti-Christ to KY jelly. Go ahead all you zealous teens, don’t take my word for it. Let me know how that goes. Or doesn’t, as the case may be.
3. We need a good one, here. Things are looking dismal. You went to the concert and the porta-potties were just too damn nasty for a little love. Back at the hotel, the pool keeps winking at you, but you do the smart thing and give it the finger. Sure a hotel bed is just fine, but we’re looking for a little fun and excitement, right? Enter the hotel room balcony. The cool night air kisses the sweat right off you as you get down and dirty standing up. Or bending over. Or both. Just don’t sit on the railing. No orgasm is worth plummeting to your death. Voyeurism never felt so good. Bring your binoculars and when you’re done, check out the competition, or at least the pervs jerking it off to your Bittersweet Symphony. That’ll throw them for a loop.
4. Back to the ugly. Tall grass. Sure amber waves of grain will hide you from prying eyes, but then there are snakes, ticks, sharp blades of grass where no man has ever gone (okay, maybe he has, but still, it’s not meant for grass-blade paper cuts). Again, I could probably get my characters here, but do I want to, really?
5. We’re at a bad, and so I give you…the floor. It’s not horrible. Wouldn’t make the ugly list, but rug burns hurt for a while. And they are easily identifiable. Maybe you’ll wear that badge of honor on your lower back with a cut-off shirt and glowing pride. But if the skanky boy in your English 101 class looked good enough to fuck after you ate that tequilla worm the other night, but now you want to douche with bleach and change schools, chances are, you don’t want the raw patch on your back to corroborate his story while you’re changing for gym.
6. Well, where the hell can we screw? I know, I know. I feel your pain. I’m not trying to be a negative Nancy. I’m still looking for the perfect love connection for my literary dudes as well. Shed? Storage unit? Public restroom with a glory hole? Closet? Under a band stand? Colonel Mustard, in the kitchen, with a wrench? The world may be my oyster, but I’m not finding any pearls. I’ll keep you posted, and if anyone has any brilliant places for sexual encounters (whether tried and true, or just a fantasy) I want you to lay them on me. Now.